To my best friend and untwin-twin, kaze senju the wolfwarriorgirl. This was an idea we've been talking about for YEARS, even back in the twi-hard mania. And now it's finally done. Hope you like. Readers, please note: PARODY. PARODY. PARODY. Meant to be funny. Don't take seriously
Hellfire's Reigning Siren
Outside the evening was calm and still. The sky cast in a peaceful dark blackish blue, the stars unveiled by the morning clouds, scattered across like broken pieces of diamonds. The crickets' low humming adding more sweetness to the serene night.
A regretful, almost-bitter sound left his thin lips as he cast his gaze outside. How ironic was it that the night would be so calming while his mind was so troubled. Cruel even.
Not as cruel as that doe-eyed vixen who stumbled into class that very afternoon, throwing everything-his peace of mind, his daily routine, his sanity, his lack control into complete shit.
A snarl ignited from him. Cruel sky, cruel girl. Damn them both. The sky for remaining calm through his turmoil. The girl for causing him to be in this turmoil state. This mortifying, anxious-ridden, trouble-minded, painfully-aroused disgraceful state.
His erection was so painful, so big, he could the seams of his boxers, of his jeans breaking apart with each waddle over to the fireplace.
"Beata Marie," he pleaded. "You know I am a righteous man." Perhaps not in the religious sense; he wasn't even sure if his family was religious before they were touched by the influenza. But after his damnation, after his bouts of rebelliousness, he committed himself to Carlise's cause. "You know I am a righteous man. Of my virtue, I am justly proud."
Like not falling into the sins of the flesh. Or ripping out Mike Newton's throat; every word dripping from that idiot's mouth were like nails on a chalk board. Attempting to listen to Rosalie's drabble. Being the unspoken foundation to their family, making sure everyone else fall in line. It was exhausting most times. Agonizing other times. But he had done it.
Clearly it wasn't enough. Clearly fate marked him as their favorite toy and wanted to torture him. Why else could Satan send his best weapon from the depths of hell over to Forks, to him? To corrupt him? Threaten his sanity? Test his limits before he gave into the ruthless creature he kept caged for decades now?
It was that, he thought darkly, turning his attention to the fire. All that and more.
When he looked into the fire, all he could see was her. Her simplistic, delicate beauty. Those dark brown waves, heavily scented with strawberry, billowing in the fan's wind. Those big, wide brown doe-eyes that were so innocent, it shook him to the core. That milky-white skin that was so smooth, so soft, just begging for a bite…
And there went his jeans, completely torn-through, his hot and heavy shame dripping down his leg.
"Why?" he groaned, cupping his member, resisting the urge to fondle with it. 'Course his resistance was met with difficulty, his mind swarming with the idea of her kissing him, touching him, playing with him until he couldn't think straight. He bit his lip down hard to keep in his tortured moans. "Why do I keep seeing her? Why do her smoldering eyes still scorch my soul?"
He could still smell that wondrous, addicting scent of strawberries and lilacs swarming him, surrounding him, closing in until every dark, murderous instinct he kept buried came rushing to the surface, clawing through every layer of control like tissue paper. Blazing in him out of control. Like-like…
"Like fire," he said at last. "Hellfire. Dark fire. This fire in my skin." He clawed through his arms, trembling. "This burning desire…"
Edward reached into his pocket and took one piece of clothing that marked his insanity. A white cotton sports-bra that he may or may not have swapped from the vixen's gym locker while she was out tripping and injuring her teammates with a basketball. It was wrong in so, so many levels. Mortifying in even more levels. Still, his guilt evaporated as he pressed the garment against his nose, inhaling deeply. He shuddered, picturing the bra holding those perky, beautiful breasts, keeping them safe and snug.
This was what he had to been reduced to. A reckless, thieving, adolescent creature.
"It's turning me to sin."
He could feel them. The cold, hard piercing eyes of fellow brethren, enemies, the Volutri, his self-loathing and disgust on either sides in endless rows on him, practically burning him alive.
"It's not my fault!"
"I'm not to blame," he pleaded. "It is the Swan girl! The one who set this flame!"
He ran down the aisles, searching for a sympathetic face among the crowd, finding none. Their judgment, their scorn burnt as bright as Isabelle's seductive gaze. It wasn't his fault, though. He wanted to plead that; scream of it. None if this was his fault.
"He made the devil so much stronger than a man!"
Stronger than any rival who threatened to ruin the family's sanctuary. Stronger than his sister's own hatred of what they were and what she lost. Than the Quileute wolves. His own insatiable hunger. All seemed like peddles compared to the monster avalanche she was, and the destruction she could unleash if she dug in deep enough.
With those big, brown eyes. That unbelievably yet compelling clumsiness that added more to her dangerous charm. Those perky breasts that begged to be touched. That delicious crimson pumping through her veins, tempting him for a taste.
Just a little bite, her deceitfully innocent persona sang to him. A measly little bite. Oh how, his mouth watered. Oh, how much he wanted to taste. How easy it would, just to lean in close while the rest of the class was busy with themselves, ease into her, hold her gaze as his hand reached for her, stroking that beautiful skin, ripping an easy slit through for drops to leak through-
No! No, no, no. He was better than this. He was stronger than this.
As if fate didn't toy with him enough, wisps of smoke stretched from the hearth, billowing towards him, taking on the form of Isabelle Swan. Smiling coyly like the sly vixen she was, biting her finger, curling her hair with another finger, clad in the most scandalous black lingerie that would make the most sultry French lingerie designers blush beet-red.
Dear god. His throat went bone-dry.
Giggling, she kept her eyes locked on his as she slowly dropped down, legs spread wide, smile growing more sinister.
Oh dear god. "No," he whimpered.
"Yes." She giggled, straightening up and turning her back to him, ass high in the air, her fingers running between her legs.
Horrified, Edward covered his face with his hands. Yet his traitorous eyes still peeked through the cracks of his laced fingers, watching her bite into that slim finger, drops of crimson dripping onto the floor.
"Come play with me, Edward." she purred.
Take her, the monster roared. Take her, ruin her. Feast on her.
A river of drool gushed from his open mouth. Yes, he could take her. He could have her. Ravish her body and show her all the pleasure the flesh had to offer, then pleasure himself to her blood.
Fight it. His tentative self-control broke then through the haze of madness and lust. FIGHT. IT.
"Protect me," he begged to whomever dare listen. "Don't let this siren cast her spell. Don't let her fire sear my aching bones. Destroy Isabelle and let her taste the fires of hell. Or least…" It was maddening to think, to even suggest and yet, "Or least let her be mine and mine alone."
A knock shattered through his thoughts.
"What?!" he barked. He made it distinctly clear he didn't want anyone to disturb him for the rest of the night, wanting to be alone with himself and his thoughts and his brooding.
"Dude, do you mind if I borrow your car? I crashed my truck."
Of course, it would be Emmett. Edward rolled his eyes. They weren't even halfway through September and that was the third car to join the vehicle graveyard caused by Emmett. Somehow though it was his driving that the family criticized?
"You could just run?"
"Where's the fun in that?"
Edward grabbed his nose and pinched it hard, trying to suppress his annoyance. "Whatever. Don't crash it."
"Whatever you say, emo."
Muttering under his breath, Edward waited until his brother's footsteps were far away from hearing range before he picked up where he left off.
Isabella was going to be a problem for him, for all of them, if she continued to be near, tempting and teasing him. He couldn't simply dispose of her, no matter how much he ached for her blood. Not to mention he respected the Chief well enough and couldn't stand the guilt of taking away his only child. It would also draw too much suspension, with so many witnesses who could testify the hostility he expressed towards her the first day of school. He couldn't switch out of Biology; apparently every other class during that time was full. He doubted the professor would let him switch seats, even though there were several candidates who'd happily step in. Especially Newton.
Fury boiled underneath his skin at the thought of Newton within five feet of her, getting a close-up to her doe eyes, being enchanted by her charms. Things that belonged to him.
He would not share her with anyone. Which only left one option…
"I'll have her," he declared her at last. "I'll have her even if I have to destroy the town to do it."
Decision made, determined steeled in his bones, he flung her bra into the fire, watching the flames eat away the garment.
"God have mercy on her. God have mercy on me. But she will be mine or sheeeee willlllll buuuuuuuuuuuuuurn!" he howled, fists high as he sank to the ground.
"What the hell are you doing?" His eyes darted over to the door, where Rosalie stood in the doorway, looking at him as if he belonged locked up in a tiny room with a straight jacket.
"Would you mind? I'm trying to have a moment."
"Carlisle! Edward is having a fire hazard in his room!" She took another glance into his room. "And performing some kind of sex cult ritual."